


Yes Man

by SubwayWolf



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Come Eating, Desk Sex, Francis Eats Ass in This I'm Warning Yall, French Kissing, M/M, Nipple Play, Office Sex, One-Sided Romantic Pining, Porn With Plot, Prostate Stimulation, Reward Sex, Rimming, Stress Relief, Sweet Talking, Table Sex, Unrequited Romantic Love, ass eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis feels inclined to show Doug some appreciation for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes Man

**Author's Note:**

> A twitter request! A long overdue one. This is the first free weekend I've had in a while. I'm so glad to have the time to sit down and write this. It relieved so much stress.
> 
> The person on twitter who requested this mentioned how Doug is never treated well in fics and I couldn't agree more, he does need some love. I'm on season three of my re-watch now and it's really giving me some super strong feelings so I'm just gonna let them all out in this fic. It should be titled "The Doug Stamper Appreciation Fic" because it's pretty much a love letter to him. Seriously though. Someone needs to take care of that man. If it's gotta be me, I'm okay with that.

“Stay for a little while.”

Doug stopped right in his tracks.

Francis gave him a small smile. He was standing at his desk, and he had his arms folded, which meant he was serious. He took off his reading glasses that he had just used to scan the papers Doug had just handed him. “I want to spend time with my Chief of Staff. Come here.”

Doug couldn’t say no, but he wanted to, because he thought that he should. He followed through on the order. He turned back around approached Francis at the desk.

Once he got close, Francis gestured to the desk. “Have a seat,” he offered.

Doug took a seat on the edge, keeping his feet firm on the floor. Francis glanced behind him to see that the blinds were drawn, which they were, letting in natural sunlight. Doug looked up at him, faintly curious.

For a long moment, they stayed quiet, just regarding each other calmly. They were comfortable with each other, so no silence ever felt awkward. But Underwood couldn’t still his hand for long.

Francis reached out and touched Doug’s face, gently, running his thumb over Doug’s jawline and keeping his eyes fixed on Stamper’s lips. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

Doug relaxed all at once. He really had been gone for such a long time – he had spent virtually every day upwards of fifteen years with Francis, so being away for nine months felt like an eternity. Doug had been recovering, forced in the captivity of his own home like it was a prison. It was so hard. 

“I am too, sir,” Doug answered, his voice quieter even than its usual softness. It was the truth. Francis gave him purpose. Doug couldn’t imagine a life without Frank Underwood in it. He didn’t say that, though. He nuzzled against Frank’s touch but couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His heart was aching a little.

Underwood got a little closer. The gap between them was closing slowly, unnoticeably. “You worked so hard to get back here. I’m so proud of you.” His tone, though gentle and reassuring, made it clear he was earnest.

Words got caught in Doug’s throat. There were things he wanted to say, a million of them, in fact – but they all vanished, like he forgot the language.

He didn’t have a chance to speak, even if he could. Francis kissed him.

Fuck, this was it. It had been a long time since they’d last done this but Doug hadn’t forgotten. It was _remembering_ that was the problem, especially during his recovery -- thinking about Frank at night, in the morning, every second in between, every moment they were away from each other. Remembering how it felt. Desiring. Denying. Focusing on anything and everything else.

Frank was typically such a rough kisser. The intensity usually increased when he had a drink or two – it had been like that all the way back to the state Senate days, Doug remembered it well. When Frank would close the door of his office and pour himself a glass of bourbon and toss it all down with one quick gulp and flick of his wrist, Doug would watch him across the room and feel his heart quicken. When Francis drank, that meant the kisses were rougher. Doug liked the hand on the back of his neck, fingers up in his hair, their lips pressed together with such force that he could taste teeth.

But Francis wasn’t drunk right now. And that was a good thing. Doug _hated_ the taste of alcohol; he was so adamant on refusing himself to desire it that tasting it on someone else’s tongue actually repulsed him. This was probably a good thing, but it made those kisses harder. But this one, right now, there was no bourbon taste in Francis’ mouth, no matter how deep his tongue reached into Doug’s, Stamper couldn’t taste even the faintest drop. 

It made his heart swell. Francis was clear-minded, which meant his words were just the same. He wasn’t saying those things because his inhibitions were lowered, he was saying them because he really wanted to. With Francis’ heavy and sweet tongue in his mouth, Doug felt _clean_.

They pulled back from each other, panted, kept close, and shared the oxygen. Doug had his hands on Francis’ waist; he couldn’t remember putting them there but he didn’t move away.

Instead, he said, “You probably have work to do.” It wasn’t a matter of ‘probably’, it was a fact – Doug knew exactly how busy Frank was.

Frank shook his head briefly. “You are more important right now.”

Their hips met. Doug was pinned against the desk now, which was irrelevant because he didn’t want to move anyway. But being this close to Francis, feeling their hips lock together like this again, it was so natural, like muscle memory.

Francis kept his one hand on Doug’s hips, holding him firmly, like he was afraid to let him go again. “You’re just so good, Doug. You’re always getting shit done.” With the other hand he reached up and began to loosen Doug’s tie. “I could never gotten here, into this office, without your help.” 

Doug didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say _yes, sir_ because those were the words that came to mind first, but then again, they always did. It was so nice to just be with him again, in the same room, no division of distance or unease or animosity between them. Simply being here with Francis in this office meant more to Doug than Frank might ever know or understand. 

But Doug didn’t say any of that. He stayed quiet, tuned his ears, and attended to the words zealously.

The wine red tie slipped off of Doug’s neck like silk against skin. “You should have been on this team from the beginning. When you said you were ready, I should have listened. I was wrong to turn you down.” Francis admitted all of this with a streak of regret in his eyes. “I don’t know how I lasted a second without you.”

It felt a little pathetic, but Doug absolutely loved the sound of Francis’ voice. A strong, feminine voice could relax him to the next level of consciousness, but Frank’s voice did something far different. It excited him and lulled him all at once. Praise sounded even sweeter. Praise ran his blood cold, just cold enough that he could feel it running through his veins under hyper-sensitive skin, where the tone of that southern drawl could make millions of hairs stand on their ends.

Of course, Doug didn’t say a word of that, either. He felt a growing desire to pull Francis back to his mouth but he would never dare to take such a risk.

Francis began undoing the buttons of Doug’s shirt next. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad to have you on my team. And that I’m deeply thankful that you have a place in my life.” He was almost apologetic, as if he was sorry he’d never said these truths before. “You have no idea how important you are to me.”

Doug stood like he was undergoing military inspection, but flushed like he was being flirted with. “I _do_ know, sir. You don’t have to tell me.”

Francis was meticulous with the undressing, almost painfully so. “I feel like I don’t show you enough appreciation.”

“I don’t do this for appreciation.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because you need me to.”

A minuscule smile crossed Francis’ lips. If his heart weren’t beginning to race, Doug might have smiled back. 

“I appreciate that,” Francis quipped. “And I appreciate you.” He finally reached the last button in the row, and parted the white halves of Doug’s shirt to expose his chest. Francis’ eyes trailed up and down, from Doug’s clavicle to the waist of his slacks. Then those eyes met Doug’s, stern and serious. “Let me show you.”

Frank got down on his knees.

This was serious. Frank didn’t kneel down for just anyone. This almost made Doug want to smile too, but he wanted to remain professional, or at least as much as he could when the President was on his knees unbuckling his belt with a surprisingly low degree of competence.

Just a moment before Doug felt bad enough to offer to help him, Frank finally undid Doug’s belt and got his pants down around his ankles. He didn’t waste time pulling Doug’s briefs down as well, exposing his aroused but still flaccid cock to the open air of the Oval Office.

“Turn around,” Francis said from the floor. 

The rush of air was surprising, and Doug wasn’t really expecting to get his dick sucked in the first place, but this caught him even more off-guard. The last thing he saw before turning around to lean over the desk was Francis licking his lips.

Once he positioned himself backface to Underwood, Doug put his hands on the desk and leaned forward and spread his legs to receive him.

The flat of Francis’ tongue teased the puckered pink outside of his hole, and by spreading his ass a bit with his hands, he was able to poke the tip of his tongue a little inside, just teasing and wriggling it a little bit in. Doug was going weak, fast. Spit was building up as Francis continued eating him out, alternating between teasing the sensitive skin around and inside the curve of the rim and lapping up deeper inside where his hole was hot and wet and slickening up. Francis only went deeper, using his tongue to reach as deep as he could, his lips to suck and tease, pushing himself inside to arouse and taste the deepest parts of him, using his hands to spread him and part his tight hole for ease of access. 

After some time, Francis introduced two fingers. He just slipped them in, to stretch Doug out and tongue him deeper, but for another reason as well. He slid those fingers in and hooked them upwards, fingering around until he found Doug’s prostate.

Doug rewarded the discovery with a gasp he couldn’t hold back. His fists clenched and pleasure surged through him, too much at once. His cock was rock hard by then, stiff atop his sack which was resting on the desk, on some papers that were scattered around. He tried not to think about what important documents he was defiling like this.

He actually couldn’t do much thinking at all, because once Francis found his prostate, he started to stroke it with gentle pressure and the pads of his fingers, milking him in rhythm to the motions of his tongue. The direct stimulation and the wet teasing made for a beautiful mix of instant pleasure and slackened arousal that was making Doug lose lucid thought.

Doug really did love Francis. Not like he’d loved anyone else before. It wasn’t a love that consumed him or drove him to mania – he was used to that, and this wasn’t anything like it. This was more like being drawn into his will, which he felt was natural, as Francis bled power. He was something bigger than Doug ever could be, and being a part of that, being given purpose from Francis’ drive, it was more than enough. 

Consider an ancient Greek warrior who had divine blood and was supplicated with women and wine and jewels and silks. Now consider the god who fathered him, the god who was supplicated not in luxuries, but in gore and fear. 

Doug’s hole was wet and open by the end of it. His cock was leaking a little at the tip. He was a panting mess and weak in the knees, the support of the desk all that was keeping him standing. Francis pulled his tongue out and slipped out his fingers, putting gentle pressure on Doug’s prostate as he did so. This was almost too much to handle but he gritted his teeth and bared through the ache to be touched again.

Francis got to his feet. Doug could hear it and feel the closeness of body heat. He tried to focus on calming down his heart as he listened to a drawer being opened, then closed, then the uncapping of a tube, probably of lubricant. Doug briefly wondered if Frank was the first President to keep lube in his desk. 

The fingers, he could handle. Francis avoided his prostate and Doug was already opened up so it didn’t cause him any discomfort. He mostly slicked up the rim, which was already dripping wet, and the first inch or so inside. That was usually the most difficult part because of how much girth Francis had.

Francis’ cock was inside him before Doug even came to his senses. A single thrust, raising up on his toes a little, with Doug moaning a little, arching back to receive him. Frank stayed inside for a moment so they could be together, fully, to remember what it was like – like someone whose heart had been empty for so long being unfamiliar with himself upon becoming whole again.

While the emotional drive for closeness and intimacy often felt one-sided, Doug knew in his heart that it wasn’t, except on the surface. This kind of love was unlike anything most people would ever have the chance to experience. In fact, love might not have been a strong enough word. This was devotion. This was altar worship. Doug was getting his due now.

Consider how ancient people would sacrifice their daughters and lambs to a deity who rewarded them with decades of hurricanes and pestilence. Consider how they prayed, how they bartered with the blood of the pure, in the effort to receive just one golden harvest.

Underwood started up his rhythm, pushing his cock up and in, then sliding it back out again. There wasn’t much tension, for Doug was loose and wet. Doug’s rim was stretched tight around him, parting and being pulled wider to receive the entire thickness of his cock. He had to spread his legs a little more to take it. His cheeks got warmer as Underwood just kept stuffing him up, rolling into him without yield.

Doug’s thoughts kept drifting to the windows of the Oval; the drapes weren’t drawn. Not many people were allowed in the back gardens but Doug kept wondering and worrying if someone could see them. The slick, smacking sounds of fucking would draw people’s attention enough, let alone the sight of the President fucking his Chief of Staff from behind. 

Every thrust was slamming against his prostate. One nudge, just hard enough, would make him spurt come everywhere. Doug held his resolve so he wouldn’t disappoint Frank. It was difficult though, because he loved taking Frank raw, he just loved how they could swap fluids back and forth and become this close. Even better was when Frank came inside of him, but that was yet to happen.

Francis was getting tired, so he was using a slower tempo, but moved with a greater force and strength. He kept that arm around Doug’s waist, holding onto him for support, and with the other explored Doug’s chest, sifting his fingers through dark hairs and reaching for his opposite nipple and teasing it with a squeeze and twist.

He was just so thick, and Doug was taking all of it. He loved the sensation of being split open with every thrust. One of Frank’s arm snaked around his waist, pulling Doug to his chest. He feel Frank’s breathing, maybe could even feel his heart too if Doug’s own wasn’t pounding so hard in his ears. He loved being so close, he loved being fucked, he loved being a part of Frank Underwood.

Understanding was important, so knowing his place was just a part of the battle. Doug wasn’t a soulmate, like Claire, but he wasn’t a plaything like Ed Meechum either. No, Doug and Frank had something different. Theirs was a bond that transcended physical limits. Time couldn’t sever it, and neither could distance. As it seemed, death couldn’t trounce it either.

Consider how two people who find each other in one reality will also find each other in all parallel worlds and version of themselves, infinitely. 

“Ahh, _fuck_ ,” Doug cried out, closing his eyes. His lips were parted and he was panting, exhaling with each force up his backside, all the air just being rammed out of him. He was hunched over the desk, his hands in white-knuckled fists, his cock still untouched, red and stiff, its head and his balls grazing over the scattered sheets of paper with every thrust shifting his body forwards.

Francis reached down and grabbed his cock, tightly in his fist, choking even more blood into it and relieving a massive deal of pressure while creating some of his own. “Shh,” he eased, “Relax. You’re doing great.”

Doug tried not to choke out a sob. He thought his legs were going to give out. He clenched up tight around Francis, but that big cock just kept opening him up with each push in and out.

“You’re my best man,” Francis whispered into his ear. 

When Francis came inside of him, deep, hot, and hard, spurting out wave after wave of come far up into his hole, everything felt complete. Doug felt claimed, like Frank was marking territory belonging to him. Doug moaned out and came too, all over the desk, before Frank had even finished. Hitting their peak at the same time, it was just proof how harmonized they really were.

This was bigger than most could comprehend. If some of the universe’s greatest forces, like time and death, couldn’t touch the bond Doug had with Frank, then… well, Doug thought that maybe his place was only a fragment of something bigger. He thought Francis might be something divine. It wasn’t the first time that crossed his mind. And it would be far from the last. 

Consider a sinner who sits in the back row of pews with blood still drying beneath his fingernails and inner demons blackening his heart to ash, yet he never misses a single Sunday service. 

**Author's Note:**

> Got any requests or prompts for me? I'm open!!! Here's my FAQ which includes links to contact me, right on my [tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/fics).


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